


The Moon Will Sing

by MothWash



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Black shire, Bottom Arthur, Bottom Arthur Morgan, Crisis, Depressed Arthur Morgan, Depressed Javier Escuella, Depression, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Dutch regrets running, Dutch van der Linde Being an Asshole, Dutch van der Linde Has a Plan, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Grief/Mourning, Healing, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, John and Abigail fight a lot, John's just trying his best to provide for his new gang/family, Kidnapping, Light Sadism, M/M, Main pair still being decided, Main pair undecided, Miracles, Multi, Mute Arthur Morgan, Mute from trauma, Muteness, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Not today TB, Oblivious Arthur, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, P.O.V you had your entire life savings in the camp lockbox and Dutch and Micah got all of it., Pining, Post-Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, Recovery, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Rings, Sad, Sexuality Crisis, Smut, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Stalking, Top Charles Smith (Red Dead Redemption), Top Dutch van der Linde, Top Javier Escuella, Top John Marston, Torture, Traitor, Traumatized Arthur Morgan, Undecided Relationship(s), Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Whump, anymore, micah dies, recovering, short first chapter, simps the lot of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:15:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29449131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothWash/pseuds/MothWash
Summary: Is he dying?He knows he’s dying, what a silly thought.Silly.Just like his life, all those years, everything he did is..Foolish.Did he do enough? Did he see enough, make up enough for all those terrible things he did so blindly? He tried so hard to be good towards the end. He tried so hard to be happy in this life, yet it only hurts now.He wants to be happy again.Arthur is found on the brink of death, The few remaining members of the gang attempt to heal alongside Arthur, but the damage has been done and nerves are stretched thin as they try to move on from their past.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, Javier Escuella/Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 62





	1. Turning blue,

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in a long time, been holding this idea in and finally worked up the courage to post it, any recommendations are greatly appreciated, I intend to have quite a few chapters hopefully longer than this. Thank you for reading <3

_Cold._

Christ he's so cold here. The blood rushing through his ears is too loud, he can’t hear Dutch's steps anymore. Dutch is gone now though, he left what seems like hours ago, how long ago was it actually? He’s still freezing here on the ground. He needs..-

_Warmth._

Warmth and silence that’s what he needs, the light, the sun, the sun is rising isn’t it? 

_Yes, rising._

Right over that ledge, around the corner. He has to crawl for it, but it’s not a crawl as much as it is just dragging himself, broken limbs and all towards that light. He’s bleeding a trail of crimson that curls in the dirty puddles around him. He moves forward.

_Towards warmth._

It’s getting quieter. It’s just his chest hurting now, heaving with the effort to breathe a little longer. Even the pain in his chest is fading, he notices. The blood isn’t deafening him any longer, is it even pumping now?

_Tired, so goddamn tired._

It’s getting hard to see and the ground is rushing up so quickly towards him with every pull of his body. He’s here now though, in the light of the rising sun. He pushes himself onto his back and starts heaving, choking, he can’t even cough anymore. He’s not warm here, despite this sunrise he can’t feel it at all, just the stone against his back sapping the rest of the heat from him.

_Is he dying?_

He knows he’s dying, what a silly thought.

_Silly._

Just like his life, all those years, everything he did is..

_Foolish._

Did he do enough? Did he see enough, make up enough for all those terrible things he did so blindly? He tried so hard to be good towards the end. He tried so hard to be happy in this life, yet it only hurts now.

_He wants to be happy again._

How..? What made him happy before? _Oh- the sky-_ it's so pretty here, the sun- it’s so bright,- it’s blinding him. Sights like this always made him happy before, but he was still sad. The light was calming despite its brightness, it made him feel so tired.

_Sleep-_

_he’s so-_

_so dizzy-_

_he can’t breathe-_

_he can’t see-_

_he can’t-_

_he..-_

His vision is spots of black and gold and the buck is before him again. His chest shakes at the sight for what he thinks, _no_ , What he knows is the last time. 

Arthur is content as he closes his eyes. John will be okay, Jack, Tilly, Abigail, Sadie, they're all safe. 

_If he could just.._

Be there, with them, where it’s..

_warm_

_and_

_quiet_

_and_

_painless_

_and,,_

_happy._

He moves toward the buck before him, into the spotted light and he feels the silence take over his mind finally, making everything utterly and unequivocally..

_Quiet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are too nice I can't-


	2. Nobody said it was easy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles stumbles upon a miracle and struggles to cope with the anxiety of maintaining it and his hope.

Charles was expecting a corpse when he scaled the mountainside. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d found nothing or half of something. Cougars, wolves, and bears were common here, and so were traitors and lawmen as of late. 

All were the equivalent of mindless beasts to Charles.

He hadn’t been preparing himself nearly enough for this though, his body growing heavier with the sorrow of it all as he approached, eyes catching the sight of familiar boots from just around the corner of the cliff wall. There was a part of Charles that had been hoping it wasn’t true, refusing to believe he had to be the one to bury Arthur. He stopped before the edge, placing a hand on the rock wall to collect himself, watching the boots in the sun, wishing that he didn’t recognize them. Charles grimaced and took his next few steps after a few minutes, death hadn’t affected him like this since he was a child and it angered him.

He was unaware that he would find Arthur looking as peaceful as he did, face turned to the risen sun. Charles knelt beside him, brushing the light golden brown locks from the fallen outlaws’ face. It wasn’t fair that even in death he seemed free, Charles knew he could only hope for such a thing when his own time came. Arthur had always been a surreal man though, a free spirit among those stuck in repetitive lives like himself. Knowing that In the end despite his uniqueness Arthur suffered to this extent was infuriating. He tilted his head, taking in his final sights of Arthur, trying to push the anger down.

_Then it rose._

_Ever so slightly._

_Delicately slow._

_Then it fell,_

_as if it hadn't ever risen at all..._

But it hadn't gone unnoticed.

Charles' head snapped towards Arthur’s chest. A trick of the eye, it had to be. He watched intensely, hope keeping his gaze steady. He didn’t miss it this time, the shallow rise and fall of the beaten man's chest. Charles was frozen, trying to see if it would rise again or if maybe the wind was moving Arthur's shirt, was he going crazy now?

_He wasn’t._

_There._

_Again._

He threw his head by Arthur’s mouth, listening, not even releasing the choked air from his own lungs. 

A soft breath against his ear was all he needed.

Arthur was alive.

His friend was breathing, into his ear, raggedly but it was there and he’d be damned if he let it fade into nothing. Despite the thrumming of blood in his ears and intense joy or maybe fear, that made him want to cry and laugh at the same time, that made his hands tremble so intensely, Charles was able to keep his face stoic. There was no time to rejoice, there was no guarantee that he could rejoice. He tore the cap off his final health cure with his teeth, lifting Arthur’s head to his lap with the other hand. He kept Arthur’s mouth open so the liquid could course down the other’s throat. It bubbled in Arthur’s mouth before being swallowed with weak quiet coughs. 

When the bottle was empty he brought it away and checked Arthurs breathing again. The adrenaline was making his thoughts run wild, he couldn’t focus on a single thing. Was Arthur really alive? How could he live this long in his condition? How long would he live if at all? He couldn’t wait here to find out, if he was to even have a chance at continuing to live he needed a doctor. Charles carefully picked Arthur up, checking a final time to make sure he wasn’t losing his mind.

He began the careful trip down the mountain, feet moving as quick as they could, skidding at certain parts and barely keeping his balance. Arthur was stable seemingly for now, despite Charles' clumsy, distracted steps. By the time they reached Taima, the sun was setting and the wolves were beginning their howling far off. The only flesh they’d taste tonight was that of what Pinkerton’s bodies had been left to rot. He patted his horse's neck as he propped Arthur on the saddle first before sliding behind him. 

He kicked them into a trot and then a gallop once he was sure Arthur was secure. Valentine would have to do for now, he knew a place where they could lie low, just for a little while. He wouldn’t risk Saint-Denis or Rhodes, he knew that lawmen and Pinkertons were crawling all over from Annesburg to Rhodes. Charles felt Arthur shudder against him as he began to cough and leaned down, pressing his cheek to Arthur’s as he rode, urging Taima to go faster than she ever had. Arthur was Alive, barely, but alive, in his arms, his brother, his friend, his family. He wouldn’t have to dig another grave yet. Charles wouldn’t be alone again.

Once in Valentine Charles paid off the doctor to let them stay locked in his backroom. He’d been tipped off to it a while ago from one of Arthur’s many stories at the campfire. The doctor did everything he could to help Arthur, Charles made sure that. He was always standing behind them whenever he worked, watching with critical eyes. Even with that Arthur never woke up, never improved. A week and a half now and Arthur also hadn’t eaten yet, and the water Charles poured down his throat only caused Arthur to break out into fits of coughing. It was taking too long for him to recover, for him to even show a glimpse of being stable enough to move elsewhere. The doctor was a coward who Charles feared might crack eventually under the pressure. He figured he was already cracking from the stress himself.

Charles would step to the saloon most nights When the doctor finished the fruitless treatment attempts. He’d drink all the anxiety away on those nights, the fears that Arthur might not make it, that Arthur might be dead when Charles stumbled his way back in the early hours of the morning, all of it.

Charles groaned at the thoughts bubbling to the surface again. He let his head fall against the table’s surface. He'd seen his father among other men fall to liquor and he was terrifyingly starting to see the appeal of it. The numbing of his fears was almost as addicting as it was scary. But it never lasted, it always followed up by that terribly sick feeling eventually. Charles would make his way out the back of the Saloon every time it hit, stomach twisting from the poison filling it.

Tilly found him in a similar situation, two and a half weeks after setting up in Valentine. He was stepping out into the crisp night air to sober up, not quite as far gone as usual thankfully. She came up and wrapped her arms around him from the side, almost knocking Charles over with the force of which she crashed into him. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, sobbing and talking too quickly for him to follow. He hugged Tilly back after the shock was gone, calming her down enough to speak coherently.

She told him that they had barely slept since they had fled, constantly on the run and afraid of the law and Dutch finding them. They never stayed in one place long and were camping out on the northeast cliffs of the great plains for the past few nights. Tonight Tilly had been coming to buy supplies for the group before they set off again and had seen him through the windows of the Saloon. 

Charles placed a hand on her back in comfort as she broke into tears again and herded Tilly to where Arthur rested. She collapsed beside his bed when she saw him and clasped the dying man's hands in her own, weeping and praying quietly. Charles stepped out to clear his mind. He’d go retrieve the rest of them, let everyone rest properly with Arthur here before they found their next hideout, he couldn’t move Arthur yet, but they would at least all be in one place. He packed his gun onto his horse before going to retrieve Tilly.

There was no sound inside anymore, as he looked around the edge of the door he could see the poor girl was fast asleep with her head beside Arthur's hand, still tight in her own. He sighed before quietly closing the door. It wouldn't do any good to disturb her, she had looked dead enough on her feet when she found him and Charles was sure he could find the others on his own.

It didn’t take long to find the camp considering the night was dim and he could see the soft glow of their campfire from the train tracks. He doubted they had enough rest to care if their camp was hidden properly if going off how Tilly looked was clue enough. He stopped his horse a considerate distance away and crept on foot until he could see John. The young outlaw was hunched over the fire with a shotgun in hand. He was staring ahead into the open field, every few minutes his head would droop down but it was quickly snapped up again with vigor before the cycle repeated. 

Charles whistled softly at him, just loud enough to get John to stand alarmed and look around with concern. When he was sure he wouldn’t be shot out of shock, Charles stepped out from cover, moving slowly with his hands in the air. 

“Marston, it’s Charles.”

John had always looked tired and greasy, but this was an all-time low. He was caked head to toe in sweat, grime, and long dried blood, the bags under his eyes darker than the night sky. Marston held his gun tight still but Charles could see the relief flow through John in the way his shoulders slumped and his grimace turned into a weary frown.

“Tilly found me over in Valentine and sent me to get you all, I have a safer place than this for us to rest a few nights. It’s small but safe and Tilly’s sleeping there now, with Arthur..”

John’s grip on his gun became nonexistent the moments after Charles finished speaking. John dropped it to reach out and grip Charles’ arms.

“With Arthur?! Arthur’s alive, he made it down?!”

Charles gently pushed John’s hands away.

“I wouldn’t much call it alive, but yes. We can discuss it tomorrow.”

John swallowed, processing the information before he turned back to start shaking Abigail awake. Charles went about putting out the fire for now with sand and water from his flask. He only barely picked out the quiet and strained conversation between the couple before they began packing quickly. Abigail greeted him only with a tight-lipped nod before placing jack on her horse with other supplies and climbed up behind him. The ride back into town was quiet and tense, Charles leading them the long way around to the back of Valentine. When they arrived and unmounted from their horses, he guided them to the door. Abigail, still holding Jack tightly, hesitated before pushing the door open. A soft gasp escaped her lips and she covered them to muffle further sobs as she hurried to where Tilly knelt beside the bed. She wasted no time in taking her own seat with Jack still clutched tight to her chest. Charles watched John step to the doorway next, holding it open with a shoulder. He was simply quiet, standing still as a statue.

John tapped his foot against the doorframe after a few minutes and brought his shoulder away to let it close. Charles leaned against the wall next to the window and watched him pass and stop by the fence, dragging a hand down his face to cover his mouth.

“Dutch and Micah made him like that?” John pulled a pack of cigarettes out and shoved an end into his mouth with shaking hands.

“I don’t think his sickness was much help either,” Charles spoke softly, feeling the man's agitation grow and roll off him in waves. He watched John’s fingers tremble around his cigarette, unable to light it against the bitter cold wind and his own unsteadiness. After a few minutes of silence, he threw the matchbox down with an agonized snarl and kicked the fence post with all his might, snapping the bottom of a plank off. It was a minute more of John’s shoulders rising and falling quietly before he was turning back to face Charles, Cigarette now crushed in his hand.

“I’m not a goddamn coward okay! I know that’s what you’re thinkin’ about me, right? You worried I’ll run again cause it’s tough, Morgan told you all about that didn’t he, that I’m a shit person!?” John stalked closer with every rage-filled word that left his mouth.

“Arthur said a lot of things.” Charles remained calm and collected even as John invaded his space.

“Well I'm still goddamn here, aren’t I? So stop looking at me like I’m a pitiful fuckin’ mess!” He looked desperate from this distance Charles noted in his mind. John's eyes were sunken and bloodshot, his jaw clenched. He was angry, exhausted, and desperate. Charles was surprised as the man tilted forward further, head falling against his chest.

“Marston.” 

Charles placed a hand on John’s shoulder and pushed, holding him back and warning him with a firm voice. John’s eyes were unfocused though and he didn’t respond, looking dazed. He leaned into the hand still despite Charles shaking him gently.

“You need to rest before you collapse, getting worked up right now isn’t going to help you or the rest of us.” He wrapped his other arm around the distressed man’s back with a sigh and dragged him into the room with the others. He brought John to the table and he all but fell into his seat. Charles watched him sink in and drift off to sleep after only a few minutes, head buried in his arms.

He took a seat at the table beside John, looking over the women and Jack kneeling beside Arthur’s bed. Charles still felt uneasy despite the relief of them all alive together. This wasn’t a big enough place for them all to stay for long, neither was it completely safe. Normally moving wouldn’t bother him as much but with Arthur’s condition, they'd have to be careful while traveling. Charles would have to start looking tomorrow before someone noticed a few too many souls lurking around or the Doctor ratted them out. Those were worries for tomorrow though. Charles tried his best to fall asleep over the next few hours only succeeding just as the sky began to pale for the new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the gap between chapters, I have a hard time with motivation during school, I'll continue to try my best though. :)
> 
> Song Inspo was 'The scientist.' by Coldplay


	3. This isn't like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles almost breaks under the stress and hopelessness of the situation until he realizes he has one more chance left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll.. YA'LL ARE TOO NICE TO ME AND MY WRITING, GOD DAMN, SOME OF YOU MADE ME TEAR UP WITH YOUR COMMENTS, I AM NOT WORTHY OF YOUR PRAISE. ; 0 ;

Charles was the first to wake in the morning. He was mildly confused in his drowsy state by the number of bodies in the room. It was a few minutes of mounting worry before the previous night’s developments returned to Charles and he leaned back again in his chair, rubbing his eyes with one hand. It had to be late morning, almost noon guessing from what light filtered through the patchy windows. Since when had Charles ever let himself sleep in this much? 

_Sleep as much as he needed it, was not something he could afford to enjoy right now._

Charles pushed his chair back and stood, pausing when John shifted his head from one arm to the other. After confirming that he hadn’t disturbed the other’s sleep, Charles walked carefully to where the women kneeled at the bedside, Jack also asleep in his mother’s lap. He waited a few moments more, absorbing the sight of everyone sleeping. This was of course an undesirable situation but Charles couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help the smallest of smiles and the warm feeling in his chest caused by these shreds of hope. Maybe Arthur would wake up, maybe this wasn’t a fruitless effort after all. 

He shuffled closer to them, enough to lean over the group and brush Arthur’s hair back from his pale face. Charles pressed the back of his palm against the outlaw’s forehead. Arthur was burning up, more so than yesterday. He froze with his hand in place still, all the hope he had was gone in that instant and replaced with the dread he’d been suppressing. Charles needed help, he needed to go now.

His hand was pulled away and Charles cursed the way it shook. He pushed away from the wall to stand and stalked back to the table. He stuffed whatever he could think of into the satchel with as much alacrity as he could without waking the others. He tore a note from one of the books, scribbling a quick note that he tucked under John’s arm. Charles figured they were so worn out they might not wake up even if he shook them, so a note was the best option.

He locked the door behind himself and ran over to Taima among their other horses. He climbed into the saddle and urged her into a gallop as soon as her hooves touched the main road. Charles had one more lead he hadn’t been able to chase yet, a doctor in Strawberry, fresh from the colleges and bringing new knowledge of treatment and medicine with him. The cold wouldn’t be optimal for Arthur but there was nothing else he could think of, if the man could help he’d have to risk the exposure.

It took Charles the rest of the day to reach Strawberry, riding through a storm and almost exhausting Taima until she collapsed. The sun had just set fully by the time his feet hit the muddy ground, only a few straggling workers making their way home. He led Taima through the town at a desperate pace, asking whoever he could for directions to the doctor’s house. When Charles finally found the office he jumped up to the door, banging his fist until a light was turned on in one of the windows. Charles held his breath as footsteps approached the door and the locks were undone. It was yanked open after the last lock by a grumbling young man, looking less than happy about the visit.

“Is there something I can assist you with so I may return to my rest?” He looked Charles up and down as he spoke, voice laced with disinterest and annoyance.

“I have a sick friend, he’s dying, in Valentine.” Charles stuttered the words out, trying to gather his mind together in the urgency. “He was sick before, think he said it was Tuberculosis. He was beaten a couple of weeks ago and he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“There’s no cure for tuberculosis yet, especially late-term.” The doctor sighed indifferently. And set his candle tray down on a table near him. 

“Arthur is special, I’m sure if you just looked at him, you’d see-..”

“I’d see a _dying man_ in a _comatose_ state. I have no time nor resources to waste on a _ **dead man** , thank you very much._” The young man started to close the door, looking nothing but irritated by the situation. “I’m sorry for your loss but I must ask you to leave now if there is nothing else.”

He jammed his foot in the doorway before it could be closed fully, the doctor looking up at him incredulously. “There has to be something you can do, how can you damn someone like this!?”

“There is **no possible way!** ” He tried to force the door closed, kicking at Charles’ foot.

“You haven’t even _looked_ at him!”

“He’s as good as dead in the state you described, you’re better off finding a grave for your companion rather than a doctor!” The doctor managed to finally kick his foot out and slammed the door in his face. Charles could hear the locks clicking in place and saw the light flicker out under the door.

“You’re a coward and a bastard! what kind of doctor won’t give a sick person a chance!?” Charles kicked up the dirt around him in anger when there was still no response. He grabbed Taimas reigns and stormed down the road and out of town. The doctor didn’t know what he was talking about, if Arthur had no chance he would’ve died days ago. He wouldn’t have made it off that mountain

Charles stopped not far outside town, feeling a similar type of sick as when he drank too much. He didn’t know where to go now, barely a day had gone by and he already had nothing. That doctor was supposed to give him more time at least. Charles couldn’t return to the others like this, with Arthur in that state. He had to find something, a place, some strong medicine, maybe liquor to drown out this fear again.

He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve as tears started to build up at the corners of his eyes. This was all too exhausting. Charles didn’t know if he’d last much longer than Arthur would with the stress. He had others to worry about still too, Charles wondered if Rains Fall and the rest of the tribe were still waiting for him at the border. The Chieftain had understood completely when Charles felt the odd need to check on Arthur a final time and had agreed to wait. He’d need to send word of the predicament soon. He paused as a thought formed in his mind. Rains Fall knew of natural medicine, the tribe had healers. If they couldn’t help at least Arthur would die among friends and not trapped in a backroom of Valentine. He knew it would be rude to intrude on them, while they are already fleeing and have lost so much, but Charles didn’t have another choice now.

He practically leaped off Taima when he arrived back in Valentine, skidding in the mud. Charles unlocked the door and shoved it open breathlessly, everyone looking back at him in surprise from where they all sat around the table. 

“We’re leaving, **now**.” He stepped around them all quickly and began shoving food and supplies into random bags. “Tilly take the rest of the money and go buy us a covered wagon to take Arthur in.” The girl hesitated when she stood from the table but hurried out anyways. Abigail and John glancing between each other as they joined Charles. Jack sat by Arthur and watched them gather everything, only moving away when Tilly returned and his father gathered Arthur up from the bed. They made a temporary spot of blankets, clothes, and pillows in the back of the wagon for Arthur, John placing him gently in it. Charles helped load the others into the back before setting the board in place.

He climbed into the front seat and whipped the horses into a steady yet rushed pace on the road. Charles would look into the back every few minutes to make sure they were all okay, knowing this speed might be rough on Arthur especially. John jumped from the back up next to him, an hour or so after they left Valentine. He lit a cigarette successfully this time around. 

They didn’t speak for a long time, John breaking the silence first. “You’re taking us farther north, thought the note said strawberry?” He flicked the ash from the cigarette.

“Strawberry didn’t work out, I’m taking us to the border to be healed by the Wapiti Tribe.”

Charles felt his grip slip on the reigns as John’s hand grabbed his shirt and yanked roughly on the sleeve. “Are you **_insane?_** He needs a god-damn doctor and someplace warm, **not** _spiritual guidance_ in Canada!” John hissed at him just quiet enough so the others couldn’t hear him in the back. 

Charles shoved John’s hand off, resisting the urge to punch him or push him entirely off the wagon. “Rains Fall is a healer and can try to help Arthur. Right now we can’t venture south or east because of the law. What would you recommend instead of this Marston? What miracle doctor around us have I looked over that you know of?” He pursed his lips, barely sparing a glance at the younger man beside him.

“Well, I don’t fucking know-..” 

“You’ll just have to trust me then, _won’t you_ , Marston?” Charles cut him off short and watched the man sulk and seethe in silence. “If you can’t think of a better plan I suggest you keep your hands to yourself for the rest of the ride or join the rest in the back.” John still didn’t reply this time and just unpacked another cigarette. The rest of the ride to Charles’s delight was quiet and uneventful. The only major movement being Jack when he climbed up to look ahead near the end. After the final bend in the road, John caught sight of the native tents off to the left, a couple hundred feet or so ahead. He pointed and tapped Charles on the shoulder before leaning into the back to tell the women. 

Charles was relieved that the tribe was still there even after the past weeks. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to repay Rains Fall for his kindness if he did help them. He stopped the wagon 50 feet away from the temporary camp, already noticing the tribe’s people gathering to watch them. Abigail and Tilly also stood up in the back to peer at the tribe far off. He could hear Arthur’s shallow coughs in the back below their whispers of doubt. 

“If you stay here I’ll go greet them and come back to get you all, I need to make sure you are all welcome and apologize..” Charles stepped down to the ground, handing the reigns and his guns to John. The outlaw still looked melancholy, only grunting in reply. Charles sighed and approached the camp, watching as the crowd parted to let the chief pass through. Rains Fall waited and met him just outside the boundary of their camp. 

“We were beginning to fear that you wouldn’t return.” He smiled gently at Charles before tilting his head to acknowledge the wagon behind him. “...But it seems you’ve returned with more than just yourself.” The chieftain lifted a hand to wave at Jack on the wagon who hid by burying his face into his father’s side.

“I meant to come sooner, I’m sorry.” He flexed his hands anxiously, forcing himself to look Rains fall in the eyes. “I’ve been caring for Arthur... He’s dying and he hasn’t woken up in weeks. No doctors will help us and he’s getting worse.” Rains Fall met his gaze and nodded slowly, expression turning grimmer.

“Are you able to help him? I know it’s a lot to ask for after everything Dutch did. We can gather whatever you need, John and I can hunt to feed your tribe. _We just..- **I don’t..- Arthur doesn’t have any other options..**_ ” Charles’ words faded as Rains Fall raised a hand to stop him, a mournful look set upon his face that made him look ages older. 

“I cannot promise you anything, my friend. I do not control death, but I can try my best to help Arthur.” Charles swallowed down the urge to collapse in front of the Chieftan and nodded stiffly. The elder mumbled something in their native language to the men behind him before turning to follow them back into the camp. “Bring Arthur to my tent, I will prepare for him.”

Charles didn’t hesitate at the command, walking briskly back to the wagon and informing the others to set up their own small camp while he gathered Arthur up into his arms. Still wrapped tightly in the blankets, coughing and shivering. As Charles walked back towards the tribe with Arthur, he didn’t take his eyes off of the pale face. Regret above all else was what filled his mind now, even drowning out his fear. If Arthur were awake right now, Charles would say so much. He would confess everything he’d felt since they’d met; his judgment, his doubt, his affection. There was too much that he hadn’t told him and now couldn’t.

Charles lowered his head down to Arthur’s among the blankets. He hesitated before he pressed his lips to Arthur’s forehead. Between the lightest of kisses, Charles was whispering to him in hopes Arthur could at least hear just this.

“You’re a good man Arthur Morgan, I wish you would choose to stay here with me..”

Charles looked up only when they reached the specified tent, handing Arthur’s limp frame over to one of the Tribesmen that were waiting outside. They carried him in and Charles itched to follow as they disappeared inside. He waited what must have been an hour until the man returned without the outlaw, approaching Charles.

”Rains Fall is asking us not to enter until he comes out. You can return to your friends. Visit us in the morning before the hunting parties set out and you may join us.” Charles watched the man pass him. He remained outside the tent for another few minutes, until he was sure there was nothing. Charles’ return to the wagon was sluggish, sitting down at the shoddy fire beside the others. Whatever look Charles had upon his face deterred the questions they clearly held. One by one they all eventually drifted off to sleep. Charles remained at the fire still until late into the night. Unlike other evenings as of late, he had no liquor to force himself to sleep. 

So Charles stayed awake,

and he stared into the fire,

and he imagined that Arthur was there next to him,

and if he focused a little harder on the fire he could hear Javier strumming in the background.

 _Sean laughing with Karen._  
_Hosea talking with Uncle._  
_Kieran, Bill, Lenny, Mary Beth, everyone._

All existing ever so softly in this memory of his.

A memory Charles remained in until the night had passed and he had no choice but to return to the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna admit this one really took it out of me, It felt like I was writing it for weeks. Sorry if it's a bit dry.
> 
> Song Inspo for this Chapter was mainly 'I love you.' by Billie Elish
> 
> (Javier and Dutch will appear by chapter 5 I swear)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr also as @M0thwash !!


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